


To Sleep, Perchance To Dream

by The_Arkadian



Category: Sherlock Holmes - fandom
Genre: Friendship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-10
Updated: 2010-09-10
Packaged: 2017-10-11 15:33:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/113934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Arkadian/pseuds/The_Arkadian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After three nights of disturbed sleep including violin at 3am every night , Watson has finally had enough and drugs Holmes' tea. From a prompt on LJ specifying movie!Holmes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Sleep, Perchance To Dream

It was the fourth night of violin at three in the morning that finally wore through my increasingly-fraying patience. Something simply would have to be done. Whilst it is true that Holmes had softly serenaded me off to sleep often with the sweet dulcet tones of his Stradivarius, that same fragile instrument could be the source of the most sleep-destroying cacophony when its player were in one of his darker moods, particularly when a case had soured his mood.

And yet, as I resigned myself to yet another sleepless night, threw aside the rumpled eiderdown and donned my dressing gown, slipping a little vial from my medical kit into the pocket, I found my temper ebbing to be replaced with worry as the painful atonal jagging of the bow slowed into a low, throbbing, mournful air. My companion's mood could often be divined through the voice of his instrument, and thus it was with little surprise that as I stood in the doorway of our shared sitting room I beheld the glistening traces of tears upon Holmes' face as he played on, eyes closed as his body swayed to the mournful notes that rippled from the violin.

Holmes would have been mortified at the thought that his momentary emotional weakness should be perceived by another, so I stepped back into the shadows for a moment and cleared my throat before giving a theatrical yawn and stepping more heavily to the threshold of the room. "I say, Holmes, it must be all of three in the morning; have you slept at all tonight?"

Holmes stood with his back to me as I entered; he lowered the violin and cleared his throat. "Is it, old boy? I hadn't realised. I'm terribly sorry to disturb your sleep." He carefully laid the Stradivarius down, wiping one hand roughly over his face as he straightened up again. Then he turned with an overly-bright smile to face me. "This Mortimer case has had me worrying at it like a dog upon a bone; I had quite lost track of time."

I studiously ignored the suspicious glimmer of his eyes, picking my way through the detritus of cast-aside newspapers that littered the floor to the relatively clear settee. I glanced over at the china tea service on the nearby low table and was not surprised to see it had been left untouched. "Been keeping Mrs Hudson up as well, I see," I remarked, noting the curl of steam rising from the teapot.

"Ah, Nanny," Holmes sniffed derisively. "She insisted on interrupting me with tea; quite disrupted my trail of thought." He threw himself down into his favourite armchair and waved the violin bow at the service.

"Shall I pour then?" I asked, reaching for the teapot.

"Oh, if you must, Mother Hen," he replied airily. He stared into space, frowning slightly. "I must confess, that try as I might I still cannot account for how the Mortimers' dog came to be trapped inside that room. The dog is the key to the whole mystery, of that I'm sure, and yet..." His voice trailed off as he drifter off in thought again. Thus it was that I was able to slip the sedative easily into his cup before pouring the tea and then passing the cup to him. He accepted it wordlessly with a distracted nod of thanks, then sat with the cup in his hand, instantly forgotten. "Such a highly-strung animal as a King Charles Spaniel would not allow itself to be taken by a stranger without making a lot of noise - they are nervy creatures, much given to yapping, and yet none of the servants in that wing heard it so I must surmise that it was taken there by someone it knew. Presumably so that it would not give an alarm when the intruder entered its mistress's chamber - but _who?_"

"Drink up, old boy, before it gets cold," I remarked, keeping a deliberate tone of nonchalance in my voice.

"Wouldn't be the first time I've drunk cold tea, Mother Hen," he replied, favouring me with a quick grin yet nonetheless sipping at the tea. "Now, as to who -" He broke off suddenly, and for a moment I feared he'd somehow managed to detect the drug. My fears were allayed when he laid the bow down and took a longer draught of the tea; from the abstractness of his gaze, he appeared to be following his own thoughts once more, troubled by the intellectual problem he had been wrestling with for four days now.

Struck by a sudden thought, he drained his cup in one last swallow and set it down as he leapt from his seat to resume pacing. "Unless, of course, the dog were somehow incapable of barking..." He suddenly thumped his right fist into the palm of his left hand. "But of course! How could I have been so stupid? The dog's meat!" He turned upon his heel to stare at me. "Watson, the dog's meat was -"

He suddenly staggered slightly and put a hand to his forehead. "Watson, I- I-"

I leapt to my feet and slipped one hand to cup his elbow, steadying him. "Easy there, Holmes." Holmes clutched at my arm, his eyes clouded in confusion.

"Can't think what's come over me... suddenly dizzy," he muttered. I tried to guide him over to the settee but he stumbled, falling to his knees on the tigerskin rug. "Watson, what's wrong with me? Everything's spinning," he slurred.

"You've been pushing yourself pretty hard the past few days, Holmes; even your iron constitution can only go so far," I replied. "You need to sleep."

He shook his head then swayed, clutching at me like a drowning man. "No- no, can't-" His breathing was becoming harsher as he fought the drug. "Watson, I can't..."

His voice trailed off as he slumped against me; I gently lowered him down until he was lying upon the rug with the tiger's head for a pillow. Even now he was struggling against the drug, and I wondered if I should have given him a stronger dose. His eyelids fluttered over his soft brown eyes, his gaze limpid and unfocussed. "Can't sleep, must- must-"

"Shh, easy Holmes, it'll be alright," I soothed him gently, stroking the unruly black hair with my hand. The touch seemed to calm him; at any rate, his breathing eased. He reached out blindly, and I took his pale hand in mine, squeezing the fingers briefly in reassurance.

"John? Don't leave me, John," he breathed, all but gone.

"I'm here. Sleep now," I murmured gently.

"Drugged..." My heart froze for a moment - had he realised? But his next words set my heart at ease. "The Mortimer dog was drugged, John. Must tell Lestrade..."

And then his voice trailed away as his breathing deepened and slowed. Sherlock Holmes was finally asleep.

With a sigh of relief, I grabbed the throw from the back of the settee then lay down beside him, spreading the fabric over us both.

Now we could both sleep.


End file.
